


The End of the World As We Know It

by NoraPenblood (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: All The Ships, F/F, F/M, Gore, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadstuck, Zombies, Zombiestuck, all the deaths too, basically pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:12:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/NoraPenblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your quintessential zombie-au, circa the Alpha Trolls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World As We Know It

Your name is CRONUS AMPORA and you are so fucking done. You stand on the ledge of a roof, looking out at the tattered remains of what had once been your homeplanet. The wasteland that was left of the city was quiet, void of the UNDEAD HOARDES that now plagued your entire shit-filled existence.  
You remove the cigarette from between your cracked lips, run a comb through your grease-slicked hair, and lean on your rifle.  
Behind you, the door to the roof swings open with a creak, and you don't bother to look. You hear soft footsteps approach, and then a sneering lisp by your ear. "Hey athhole." He pushes his hair out of his eyes and nips at the tip of one of your fins.

You chuckle, narrowing your eyes. "Vwhat, ya' dragged ya' sorry ass outta bed just to see me?" You hop down from the ledge, pointed boots clicking on the concrete. "Betta' be careful, 'Tuna, people'r gonna start thinkin' you're missin' me."  
Your kismesis, MITUNA CAPTOR, flicks you off and lets his pale yellow eyes trail over your body. "Me? Mith your ath? Don't make me laugh, Fithdick." He looks out at the wreckage and grimaces. "Theen anything new lately?"

You shrug. "Lots o' walkers," your voice expresses your rather grim outlook. "Buncha vwreckage litterin' th' streets. Nothin' o' note." You suddenly smirk. "O' course, if ya vwant, ya can alvways look for yourself."  
He growls at you, narrowing his eyes. "Be careful, Cronuth. I'm volatile, remember?" He grins and his eyes flicker with the red-blue strobing of his psiioniics.  
You sidestep around behind him. "An' I got ol' Ahab," you say, patting your trusty rifle. "A'sides, vwe both knowv that you vwouldn't actually lose control. You spend far too long boastin' to Lat for that, Tuna." You cast the stub of a cigarette one last glance and toss it to your feet. 

He chuckles, lets his psychic energy fade down to a low crackle in the background. "Yeah, but who'th to thay I wouldn't make an exception jutht for you?"

You spin on your heel and slap his ass hard enough to make him jump. That'll make a lovely bruise for you to fiddle with later. "Wve both know you hate me far too much for that, Cheif.”

His thin lips curl back in a snarl, crooked fangs sharp and glinting yellowly in the dim light. A crackle of electricity strikes your hand and makes you hiss, fins folding back against your head. “Don’t tetht me, Fithdick.” 

“Or wvhat, ‘Tuna?” You rub the back of your hand, Ahab propped against your leg. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d be wvorse than wvhere we are right nowv.” 

He sighs and you watch all the fight drain out of him, shoulders sagging and that electric glow fading out. “What’re we doin’, Cronuth?”

You turn around and a bitter little laugh escapes your lips as your gaze drifts back out onto the destroyed cityscape at your feet. “Dyin’ real slovw, Tuna.” You kick a pebble down and watch it fall until it’s swallowed up in the dark. “Dyin’ real damn slovw.” He saunters forward, skinny hips swaying a bit, and bumps the hand that had come to rest back on your gun. 

“Gimme that thing.” You nod and oblige,curiously raising an eyebrow as you watch him lift it and prop it against his shoulder.

“Careful novw. Don’t want ‘ya blastin’ ya’self off the roof, nowv do I?” You smirk and light up another cigarette.

He ignores your flirting with an eyeroll before he gazes through the sight, fingers toying with the trigger. “Wonder what it feelth like to get hit with thith thing?” 

Something about his tone makes your fins perk up a bit and a frown worries your lips. You hate him but you hate the way he thinks even more. You know he’d sooner jump off the roof than go down and fight another day, but he sticks around for ol’ bone daddy and Latula. You aren’t important enough to keep him alive, but you’ve come to terms with that. You don’t reveal the way you’re worrying, instead letting out a cocky chuckle. “That ain’t the point. You get hit vwith this baby, you wvon’t be feelin’ much for long.” 

He nods once, solemn and thoughtful in that way that makes your fucking blood boil, and lowers the gun, handing it back like it ways no more than a pistol. “Wanna play target practith?” He looks down, at the two or three undead who have begun to amble around as the night grows darker. He doesn’t sound like himself for a moment, there’s something cold in his voice that makes you stare at him until he looks up. You quickly avert your eyes at that point.

“Uh… Sure thing, Tuna fish.” You say, slightly hesitant as you lift the rifle to your shoulder. You set your sights on a creature who’s shambling down the middle of an intersection, relatively far away. After a little smirk and a drag off your cig, you slowly squeeze the trigger. The familiar feeling of the rifle bucking slightly in your hands is followed a second later by the far-away thud of the creature collapsing. “Oh hell yeah! That righ’ there’s a shot, eh, ‘Tuna?” 

You turn to find him standing up on the steep ledge, searching the ground for a target. Finally he finds one and lifts it high into the air with his psionics. He holds it by it’s ankle and you can smell the flesh searing where the electricity makes contact. 

It makes you want to gag, but like hell you’ll let him see you acting weak now. He tosses it up, blows off an arm. The spattering of black gore that flies through the air has you turning fish-belly pale. “Christ, Tuna, just fuckin’ kill it.” You mutter, trying to hold it together despite the fact that he is pretty clearly losing his mind. 

He laughs quietly and takes off the rest of it’s appendages, one by one as the thing wails in dumb pain, like an animal. By the time he finally flings it’s mangled form into a nearby skyscraper, you’re losing your lunch all over your shoes. “Wvhat. The fuck. Vwas that?” You snarl, grabbing him by his shirt collar. 

There’s a look in his eyes that you like even less than the way he’s acting and he pushes you away, turning to the stairs. “Thought you wanted to play, Cronuth.” He says icily, not looking back at you. “Sometimes you gotta change the rules to keep it interethting.”


End file.
